Zombieland: Exodus
by Psycho Kinetic 15
Summary: A view through the eyes of a potential addition to Tara Phoenix's Zombieland universe. Just a character summary that MAY become an ongoing storyline.
1. Chapter 1: Wrath

**A.N. Hey guys. New story here so don't expect anything new for A New Hope.**

Zombieland: Madness of the Crowds

For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 3: 19-20)

The church was quiet when I shouldered my pack to leave that morning. The chilly air outside my sanctuary shredded my lungs like a multitude of icy razors as I removed the iron deadbolt from the doors and pushed them open. The wind outside scoured my face and pierced me down into my soul, insinuating its tendrils into every part of my body.

I stood there, for a moment, before I stepped out and pulled the doors shut behind me. Flipping up my hood with gloved fingers I examined the street with a reddish perspective through my ski goggles. Everything I saw seemed drenched in a thin layer of blood. I pulled out a rolled map from my pocket and held it up to eye level. This was my map of the city, purloined from a store, and an impromptu checklist of the places I had yet to explore in the interest of finding supplies.

First things first: Food. My gloved hand entered my field of vision and moved over the red ink check marks, visible only as motes of deeper red through my goggles. Soon my finger touched upon an unmarked food and Restaurant marker, situated a good mile and a half from my current location. I mumbled a prayer of thanks through my balaclava and set off.

Ever since the walking plague had descended upon the world I had been doing this. Wake up, scrounge, go back, pray, eat, and sleep. It was monotonous work but I viewed it as one of the many tests the Lord visited upon me so as to test my faith. My life itself had become a test in faith. Sometimes I missed my family and friends but they had died while I lived on. God's last remaining acolyte in a world overrun with the damned souls of sinners. I reflected on my good fortune and thanked god for sparing me the fate of my loved ones as I trudged through the 3 inches of new fallen snow toward my destination.

Still however, I wondered daily why the Lord had chosen me. I had been no one special in my past life. An average student and shut in was what I had viewed myself as. I had attended church grudgingly and listened to the sermons without enthusiasm. When the dead began to rise I had fled to the church I now lived in and barricaded myself in the pastors rooms. I could hear the dead outside as they pounded on the door and moaned their unholy moans. Frantically I had searched for something, anything, to protect myself. Nothing was to be found in the rooms. I had cried out "Lord, have mercy. I don't want to die!!" and thrown myself on the floor. And under the bed I saw it, a sheathed sword and a bound bible. I reached for theses things and took them out from under the bed. As the damned continued to attack the door I drew the blade, an action smoother than cutting warm butter, and gazed at it. The edge was razor thin and the blade shone with a light that seemed to come from the air itself. An inscription adorned it "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" My eyes teared up as I beheld this weapon, surely sent by God to aid me in defending myself. My hands began to shake and I dropped the bible. Its pages fluttered open to reveal a page, blank but for the words "And it came to pass, that in the field Cain struck his brother upon the head and killed him." That was when I knew. God had sent me here to this room to find these instruments of his will and use them to cleanse the damned of their pain.

So deep was I in contemplation that I did not notice that something was creeping up on me from the side. The creature pounced and would have taken me had I not sneezed and bent over double. The creature sailed over me and skidded along the ground, carving a small trench out of the new snow. I had felt the beast pass and drew my blade. It glinted in the light cast by the weak sun as it struggled to pierce the clouds. My thick raiment forced me to move slowly and heavily. I threw back my hood and pulled down my balaclava to free my head. I shifted my feet and tensed to spring while I brought my blade to bear. The creature got drunkenly to its feet and lunged at me. I was ready and sidestepped as I brought my blade down on the back of the creature's neck. The head separated cleanly and rolled away into the snow. As my adrenaline died down I reflected, as I always did, that for the grace of the lord that might have been me.

The store I had gone looking for was a small one. A corner store with little in the way of sustaining food inside, I did manage to scavenge something useful however. The corner store in question must have been a target for thieves and their ilk. So, in the interest of protection, the cashier seemed to have been equipped with a shotgun. I picked up the weapon and marveled at its weight. Something this deadly and it weighed no more than a section of lead piping. Under the counter was a box of shells that seemed to have been emptied of all but 4 of its shells. I loaded it and pumped the grip. The satisfying cha-chak brought a grin to my face.

The zombie that burst out of a door in the back of the store, trailing toilet paper like some demented mummy, wiped it right off. The gun had alerted it to my presence, I guessed, as it whipped its head around and sprinted right at me. I panicked and pulled the trigger of my gun. The report was deafening in that confined space but the buck caught the zombie square in the chest and lifted it off its feet. Zombie and wall collided with a satisfying crunch as the creature's neck broke and the wall crumbled on top of it. I worked the pump again, Cha-chak, and walked out.

I tried to conceal the fear I felt from the encounter but I had to stop outside the shop and sit for a minute. My heart still pumped like I had run a race and the shotgun still smoked slightly, the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. That was when I heard a shrieking roar that heralded the approach of more zombies. The wail sounded as though an unholy chorus was singing a back asswards version of a heavy metal song. Without thought I shouldered my pack and ran. The snow slowed me down as much as the heavy gear I was wearing but a speed born of fear propelled me forward, arms pumping, into the middle of the street and forward. If I could only get to my sanctuary without the damned noticing me, I knew I would be safe. However as I rounded a corner I realized that going back would lead them right to the only safe place I had. So my choices were: Run and hide or stand and fight. I chose the former, knowing that there was no way I could kill more than 5. Through the snow I plowed, the sounds of the dead ringing in my ears. I saw none of them but still made sure to quadruple lock and barricade the church doors when I arrived. I stripped my gear and ran up the aisle between the pews. I threw myself, half dressed, down in front of the altar and prayed.

I don't know how long I was at it but I knew by the time I looked up the stained glass windows were dark and there was no sound outside the church. I snuck to a peephole and peered out into the empty street. Slowly I stood and walked back to the altar. I knelt and said a prayer of thanks, meaning it with every fiber of my being. The Son of God stared down at me with eyes that understood my plight and comforted me by giving me the words to say. When I again rose I returned to my pile of gear that had been thrown away in my haste. I hung it all up in the coatroom in the church foyer and took the shotgun into my room.

The room I slept in was sparse, even by military standards, as it contained nothing but a bed, a footlocker, and a crucifix that hung over the bedpost. My sword went next to my bed on the floor and my new gun I leaned against the wall, within reach. Slowly I closed my eyes and lets the fire from my limbs and the thudding of my heart carry me off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2: Greed

**Zombieland: Madness of the Crowds**

**A.N.: Sue me, I dare you.**

**O death, where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory?**

**(1****st**** Corinthians 15:55)**

Chapter 2

By the time the sky had lightened enough to allow me to see with a reasonable amount of accuracy I went outside my sanctuary to forage once more. I had no wish to do so as only yesterday I had cheated death. But my belly was empty and I needed more food than I had if I was going to survive winter. Last night had brought something rare, a freezing rain that coated everything in a layer of ice.

The street outside was quiet and still. The ice glittered in the weak light of a lone sunbeam that poked through the clouds. Though it was still cold, it was still a marked improvement on the other day. I had forgone my goggles and heavy ski jacket today so that I could move a little more freely if I had to. My sword was freshly sharpened and sheathed on my left hip. My other gear was light today, as I anticipated not finding much in the way of food today. Hopefully though I would find something to add to the stockpile I had already.

Slowly and carefully I worked my way forward, trying not to slip on the ice slick ground. The snow that hadn't been melted was a now gray hunk of frozen water that covered the roads. I pulled out my map and perused it. I looked for food stored or drug stores that were not marked on the map. Yesterday's episode had put me in need of something a little more calming than a good nights rest. I also intended to look for guns. I knew that guns were noisy and prone to drawing zombies, as my near death episode the other day had demonstrated, but I could not deny their usefulness. Besides, learning to shoot was not a problem.

In my previous life I had been a slightly violent person, prone to fits of private rage. I had even killed small animals in my anger. But this bred in me something useful, but sinful. I had developed a killer instinct before the dead rose. I had enjoyed shooting at the gun range with my family but always slipped away to some quiet place to kill a dog or cat. Looking back I realized I was a very sinful person before I was saved. But now, whenever an animal crossed my path, I killed them for meat and not for pleasure.

While I thought about this and other things I walked. I knew that there was a nearby Rite-Aid but I had been saving it for a rainy day. That day had apparently come at last. The only reason I had hesitated to enter the building was that my father had worked there. I had no idea if he was decomposing in there or dead and decomposing in there.

The glass sliding doors of the pharmacy were open as I approached. They gaped wide in the backdrop of the street outside like some giant monsters maw. There was not a single light to illuminate the interior. This was no surprise as the cities power grid had been blown and therefore no place anywhere had any electricity. Still though…

Slowly I entered the store, feeling my way towards the cashiers counter. I knew that there were batteries and cheap store brand flashlights near there from having worked here before the plague. I found one and popped the casing, same thing with the batteries. I inserted the batteries and screwed on the lid. I put the top against my hand and flipped the switch. The blood in my hands lit up as the bulb powered on. Slowly I took my hand away and swept the beam at ground level. The illumination given off by the beam showed, dimly, what was on either side of me.

The floor was covered in ash and every shelf that had contained any kind of food had been cleaned off entirely. I swept a little higher and my beam found a pair of shoes and at last my ears registered the sounds of labored breathing and a low growling sound. I swept the beam the rest of the way up and found the face of a zombie. The wretch was, not my father but looked a lot like him. It wore jeans and a t-shirt that said "Krispy Kreme" and a white pharmacists coat over that. The beam illuminated the inside of its eyes and, for a moment, they glowed red. Then it charged at me, arms out, jaw open, black goo flying from its open mouth. It was only 10 feet away and I had no time to draw my sword, so I simply backed up and fell over the counter.

As I struggled to my feet, heart pumping, the zombie suddenly slipped and landed on its back. I heard something rattle then and something slithered on the floor. I drew my sword and pointed my flashlight at the source of the sound. A metal chain was connected to the zombie's throat by a dog collar. "Down boy!" came a voice that was so heavily southern I practically felt a twang in the air.

The lights came on so suddenly that I threw up an arm to cover my eyes as the light drove through my skull and caused me to squint them. When my eyes had adjusted I saw a man, so huge he cast a shadow over me, standing stock still like an ebony statue in front of me. I let my eyes travel up to his face, slowly, as his sheer enormity made me feel like an ant. He was black; I saw this now, and wearing nothing but a wife beater and a ripped pair of jeans. His arms were covered in muscles that resembled cannonballs and his hands were the size of ham hocks. His chest was wider than my whole body and his neck was thicker than a boot neck.

Then he spoke to me and his voice rumbled like thunder coming from deep in the ocean. "H…h…hello." He stuttered. What surprised me out of my stupor was the way he said it, hesitantly, with a hint of fear. He turned his head down and I got a look at his face. He was bald; with big lips and teeth so white they were obviously bleached. His nose was big and wide across his face. His eyes though, were blue as a summer sky.

His fathoms deep voice rumbled again "I bees sorry fo dat." He pointed to the zombie who now strained at the chain around its neck. "I keeps him round hea so's them things don come." It was unmistakable now, his voice was definitely fearful. He spoke of the zombie as though he was a child and it was some kind of talisman, like a dream catcher or nightlight, which kept him safe.

Then his face brightened and he smiled at me, his teeth dazzlingly white. "Mah name's John Coffey," he said, "Mah mamma said that was my name cuz one of her favorite story people was named John Coffey." I held out my hand and he took it. The grip was gentle and soft, nothing like the iron grip I had anticipated. He shook it and babbled on "Mamma always said it was uh king dat wrote huh favrit story. Ah tried tuh read it but it didn't have no pictures and ah caint read too well. I can spell mah name though!" his face screwed up in concentration "J…O…H…N…C…O…F…F…E…Y" he recited "Like the drink but with ah Y." He let go of my hand and stood there beaming. "So wus yo name?"

**A.N. Hello again everyone. For those of you who never read the book or saw the movie "The Green Mile" by Steven King I suggest you do. If you want an image of him look up John Coffey or Michael Clark Duncan to get a better image of what he looks like. John may or may not become a traveling companion for our intrepid hero, who will still remain nameless, but that is up to you. Please review my story to give your answers. **

**Your Ardent and Eager Slave: Psychokinetic15**


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